My Choices, My Mistakes
by CannedCream
Summary: Short Story. Shepard speaks of Tali; his love of her and losing her. Based off of possible events in Mass Effect 2. Excuse the creative freedom. F


I have made my choices and suffered my mistakes.

I can still see that moment with perfect clarity. I think Thane would understand.

Once I heard someone say that you never hear the shot that kills you. Maybe this is true, but there is one thing that I do know for certain; I heard hers. Even now as I sit and replay every decision I have ever made up to that moment, questioning and re-questioning my judgment over and over again, the one thing I never once doubted was the noise of that rifle as it discharged. I think that's because I understood what was about to happen. The time that passed between that sound and what happened next most likely could not have been measured in milliseconds, yet somehow I knew. God help me; I knew.

I hear the shot. I see her body jerk backwards as if she had been pulled by a string. She falls to the ground so fast and so hard that she nearly bounces. Her head strikes the floor with such force that the back of her skull might have cracked open if not for her helmet. Maybe it would have been more merciful if it had, anyway.

The shot rips right through her shields, I don't know if by impressive aiming or by luck both good and bad. The blood is already pooling around the floor. I hear someone screaming and I realize it's me.

Forgetting about everything else, and in that moment not _caring_ about anything else, I leap over to her side. I drop down to my knees and wrap my arms around her; one supporting her upper back and the other her head as a lift her as gently as I can manage.

For a moment I believe that she is already dead and in some sick, cowardly way I pray that she is, yet her eyes flutter open; two pools of beautiful white light glowing from behind a barely transparent wall of purple glass. I have willingly lost myself in those eyes before and enjoyed every second of it. Now their glow as grown dim. There is little life left in those eyes. My jaw clenches and my grip tightens as if in defiance of what I am seeing. I think to myself that I can't lose her, too. I can't lose anyone else.

Her hands tremble as she raises her arms. She acts like they weight hundreds of pounds a piece. I tell her not to move, to save her energy, but she doesn't listen. Her hands press against the sides of her faceplate. There's a clicking sound followed by a faint hiss as the pressure is released.

Moving slowly and delicately, each action causing her an unknowable amount of effort and pain, she removes the plate with her left hand and allows it to drop to the floor where it lands face down and cracks. Her right hand continues to rise and is placed upon my cheek. I desperately wish to take that hand in mine, but I simply can not bring myself to let her go. It was like I had the insane thought that as long as I was holding her than she couldn't die. That was probably what I did think.

Her hand caresses the side of my face and suddenly I'm pulled into a new memory. Several hours before I stand in my private quarters, I'm going over my dossiers trying to plan every step of what's to come not knowing how quickly everything would go to hell. I hear the door behind me open followed by soft footsteps closing in. I turn and there she stands before me; her head turned slightly down and her hands wringing together. When she speaks her voice sounds so nervous and flustered. She erratically stops and starts sentences as she tries to find the right words. I can't help but to think of how cute she is.

When she saw me turn, she stopped, but now she has worked up her courage once more and closes the distance. She tells me she how has taken antibiotics and herbal supplements for her immune system as she removes the documents from my hand and places them on the desk beside us. Her body trembles slightly as she begins to ramble, apologizing constantly for it, yet despite her fears she does not leave. I remember admiring her confidence. That was one of the things that first drew me to her. She is young and strong. She knows what she wants and will not back down no matter how afraid she becomes, yet she somehow seems to constantly put the feelings of everyone else before her own. Even now she asks me if I'm sure about this, if I wouldn't be happier with someone-anyone-else. It's a question I don't even have to think about.

I close the remaining distance between us and tell her that she's the one I want as I wrap my arms around her waist just as she embraces me. I run my hands along her suit, feeling the fabric as well as the body the waits just underneath. I'm filled with love for her as I wonder just how long it has been since she has known the touch of another; the feeling of bare flesh against her own with nothing in-between to mute the sensation. It's not pity I feel for her, that's too shallow of a word, but there is a deep seeded sadness. I want to protect her, to keep her safe forever. I know that what we're doing right now is a danger to her health, yet I can not seem to stop myself.

I would be lying if I said there hadn't been others before. Some of them from relationships I thought were real and found to be false, others little more than meaningless flings from a drunken military man on his shore-leave. Never before have I felt like this. I have known 'want' before and I have known 'lust', but this is the first time I ever felt a 'need'. I've become addicted to her. I need to hear her voice, to see her body, to feel her touch. Even if what were are about to do turns out to be too dangerous to repeat I know I will still feel the same love that I feel right now, the same need.

She continues to talk, trying to explain herself and her actions, as she guides my hands up to the sides of her helmet and shows me just were to press down. There's a click and a faint hiss as we remove the faceplate together.

Her words fade away as we gaze upon one another without boundaries for the first time. She is beautiful. I smile as I look upon the face of a goddess and wonder what kind of cruel fate has forced her to hide it from the world.

Our faces close in and our lips touch. Our fist kiss is short, nothing more than a hesitated peck really, but the expression of ecstasy that spreads upon her face is impossible to miss. I feel her hands grab my shoulders and she pushes up down onto my own bed. No sooner do I land than she is on top of me. She goes back for another kiss and this time there is no hesitation, no fear. She has become just as addicted as I have. Her sensation of her lips upon my own is deep, passionate, and wonderful as she quenches the thirst of an unfulfilled need that has lain dormant inside of her all of her life.

We don't have long before we touch down and begin our mission, but we make very good use of our time.

I feel her hand shift upon my cheek and I am pulled out of my beautiful memory and into a darker one. She looks up at me, her face perfect and serene. She smiles. God help me, but she actually smiles. Somehow that is what brings everything into perspective for me.

"No," I say; a desperate sound that pathetically tries to fight against the inevitable. I repeat that word again, and then again, and then again. Each time my voice grows louder, more angry, more panicked. I don't like the feeling of helplessness that's washing over me, but I'm powerless to stop it. She, however, says nothing. Instead, she continues to smile as her hand moves from the side of my face to the back of my neck where her fingers tighten down into a weak grip. Using the last of her energy she pulls herself up and presses her lips against mine.

Her grip begins to loosen, her lips pull away. Her head lulls backwards and the arm falls. She's gone.

I pull her body against mine and hold her as tightly as I can manage. I told her I would protect her. I told her I would keep her safe. I failed. In my mind I scream at whatever God or gods that might be watching. I demand to know why she had to die. Haven't I sacrificed enough for this mission? Haven't I lost enough of my own friends and crew? I never asked for any of this. I never wanted to be a hero. I never wanted the weight of existence to fall upon my shoulders. This wasn't fair! This wasn't right! I didn't want this anymore, any of it! Why couldn't everyone just let me stay dead? Why couldn't I just rest?

I feel a hand tentatively touch my shoulder. Someone says my name. I can no longer remember who. Up until that moment everything was perfectly clear, now it is all happening behind a dirty window. All I can see are blobs; faceless shadows moving about.

Her body is taken away from me and I get to my feet. Someone asks me if I'm okay. I'm not sure if it's the same person who touched my shoulder or someone new.

The question is ridicules. I almost laugh at it, but don't dare to. I tell them that I'm fine. This is a lie and everyone knows it, but they also know it's a lie I'm telling myself. I can still hear myself saying that there was still a mission to complete and time was shorter than ever now. I tell the crew to move out and they do.

We lost no one else that day.

Now I sit alone in my private quarters. In my hands I hold her faceplate as I often do when I need to think. My thumb travels up and down the length of the crack in the glass, most of the time I don't even realize I'm doing it.

Sometimes I have nightmares about that day, and sometimes in my dreams there is no last kiss, no final goodbye. She was killed instantly by the shot, dead before she ever hit the ground. It seems so real. I hold the mask to remind myself that it was not. I hold the mask to remember those short, sweet hours we spent together inside this room. I hold the mask because I still can't stand to let her go. There is still the need.

Once I heard someone say that no good deed goes unpunished. I fully believe this now. I have made my choices and I have suffered my mistakes, but the story is not done yet. There are still forces gathering outside of space waiting to strike against us. Their mission is to destroy every living thing. Mine is to stop them, but now I act with renewed vigor. Now I have one more reason to fight.

I put down the faceplate and stand from my chair. I begin to move towards the door.

I have made my choices and suffered my mistakes, but my mistakes are about to become my enemies'.

Her name was Tali'Zorah vas Normandy. I will make sure that in the last seconds of their life, they each know her name.


End file.
